


Mating Season

by The_Black_Library (The_Black_Lbrary)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bestiality, Blood, Knotting, M/M, Monster sex, Other, Violence, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Black_Lbrary/pseuds/The_Black_Library
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters don’t know everything about supernatural beings. Things such as werewolf mating seasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mating Season

Dean huffed out a strained breath, chest pressing far too tightly against the concrete ground beneath him. There was little he could do about it though... especially with a two-hundred-plus pound werewolf pressed tightly against his back, hot breath blasting against his neck with every sharp movement of their hips. He grunted as the thick claws gripped tightly to his waist, puncturing the skin and digging shallow furrows into the hard meat.

 

“S-shit...” He groaned, the feeling of warm blood tricking down his hips and abdomen from the odd angle he was forced into, causing him to shiver in the cold night air. The contrast was sharp... but not nearly sharp enough to dull the burning ache in his thighs and lower back.

 

Doubled over onto his hands and knees with his chest pressed into the ground, Dean forced his body to relax as the very powerful, very _male_ werewolf rode his ass with heavy thrusts. Every pound into him sent the human skidding a little further along the cement, scrapping his knees and heels of his palms as he tried to steady himself.

 

_'Hunt the werewolf,'_ Sam had said,  _'the town is less then ten miles'_ . Oh, he  had  hunted it alright... until it turned around and started hunting  _him_ . Though Dean knew he couldn't blame his brother for this, even as he felt his insides splitting open from the sheer girth of the thing.  A shudder utterly wrecked him when the werewolf shifted angles, slamming something hard and unyielding inside him that caused him to cry out loudly in the empty parking lot. 

 

How was he or his brother supposed to know that werewolves had mating seasons?

 

De an was paying for it now, even as he could see the bruises forcing on his arms and back; the beast above him not-so-gently raking its claws and fangs along bared skin. Dean's clothes lay shredded and scattered to the four winds in the thing's haste.

 

“Shit, shit shit...” He grunted, wincing as something thick and heavy pulsed and began to swell inside him. “Wh-what the hell... just... just fucking come, you bitch...” He whined, unable to help the moan it forced out as his prostate was abused viciously. At this rate, he himself wasn't going to last long... he only prayed this would end quickly.

 

Rutting atop him with low warning growls, its thrusts grew more erratic and heavy. If Dean had been able to think straight, he might've laughed cynically over the fact that a werewolf could get aroused by  _dirty talk_ . 

 

“Fucking come on!” He shouted, wincing in pain as something stretched inside him that wasn't meant to, in order to accommodate the swelling. Just when he felt like he was about to explode -both figuratively and literally-, a sudden rush of hot liquid surged through him, drawing an undignified yelp and causing his orgasm to hit hard as it barreled into his prostate. 

 

Stars burst behind his eyes as Dean cried out loudly, only vaguely registering the hot rush of sticky fluid that pulsed out of his stuffed hole and ran down his thigh in thick rivulets.  The werewolf atop him howled out loudly as its release came, thick body shuddering over him and threatening to crush him entirely. 

 

It was only by a fluke; his knee slipping on the thick mess pooling out of his ass that he was able to slide out from under the monster as it collapsed into a satisfied heap. Two minutes rolled by, where the older Winchester half-sat atop the concrete, dazed and nursing his sore backside. The next two were spent pushing abused muscles into motion so he could grab the gun from his still-intact back pocket somewhere behind him, and shooting the werewolf in the head. Twice.

 

Three times, for good measure, he assured himself quietly  after he realized the clip was empty  and the 'click' 'click' 'click' was not producing results .  He could still feel the hot mess inside him leaking out; too filled to be able to hold it all in. He surmised with a wince, that humans weren't meant to.

 

This was one bit of research his brother was never going to learn about, if he could help it.


End file.
